


Reconsidering

by coreopsis



Category: Oz - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-01
Updated: 1999-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan has a rather drawn out epiphany with Beecher and Keller providing role models and endless amusement.  And Sean is in the middle of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconsidering

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the Oz zine **Contraband** under a different pseud. Takes place around the end of third season but before New Years.
> 
> Big thanks to Nicole and Mouse for beta reading, to Melis for excellent suggestions, to Deb for reading the work in progress and not throwing anything at me, and to Shug for letting me be part of such a kickass zine.

The library was oddly silent and empty for what felt like the middle of the day. Ryan O'Reilly picked up yet another book about boxing and flipped through the pages. There was nothing inside that was going to help Cyril. There was nothing inside at all. Blank pages fluttered uselessly as he threw the book at the wall with a curse. Leaning his hands on the table, Ryan cursed some more and wondered what to do next. Still thinking the room was deserted, he started when he felt a hand on his ass. He straightened to his full height and spun around abruptly. Jason Cramer stood there with a wide smile that revealed curiously sharp eyeteeth.

With a cocky tilt of his head and narrowed eyes, Ryan fought back a shiver and asked sharply, "What do you want, Cramer?"

Jason moved closer and put his arms around Ryan, his taut boxer's body crowding the other man against the table. Jason ran his hands down Ryan's back as he breathed warmth against Ryan's cheek, the tip of his tongue darting out for a brief taste. Brushing his lips across Ryan's jaw, he lowered his mouth to Ryan's neck to lick and nibble. His voice whispered through Ryan's mind soft words of desire and longing that had no business in a place like Oz, and yet sounded suspiciously like the things Ryan had said to Gloria.

Ryan pushed futilely against broad shoulders and gasped, "Get off me, you cocksucker. What about your precious Anthony?"

"I'm finished with Anthony. Now it's your turn to see just how good I can suck," Jason's voice ghosted through Ryan's mind once more as his teeth pierced the skin of Ryan's throat. The warm rush of blood flowing down his chest drew a raw scream from Ryan, and Cyril's frightened voice pulled him from sleep.

"Ryan, wake up! Ryan, you're yelling! Wake up, wake up, wake up," Cyril chanted, patting Ryan's chest frantically.

Ryan sat up, pushing Cyril's hand off him in the same move. His whole body was shaking, but his voice was instinctively calming when he spoke to his brother. "It's all right, Cyril. Be quiet, now. It's just a bad dream."

"You have bad dreams too, Ryan? Like me?" Cyril's eyes were wide in the dimness of the pod and Ryan could see a tinge of disbelief on his face.

"Everybody has bad dreams sometimes, Cyril. It's no big deal. Now go back to sleep." Ryan sent Cyril a reassuring smile and rolled over to take his own advice. // It's no big deal. Everyone has nightmares. Everyone. So why would I dream about a fag like Jason Cramer being a vampire with the hots for me? That's fucked up, O'Reilly. //

Rearranging his pillow and straightening his blanket, Ryan settled himself on his bunk. He firmly fixed a picture of Gloria--naked of course-- in his mind and relaxed into sleep.

The sharp smack of tape-wrapped fists hitting the punching bag was nearly drowned out by the clank of weights being lifted and dropped, and the chattering of the inmates laid another layer of sound over it all. The clamor was almost reassuring for Ryan as he held the heavy bag for Cyril's blows and called, "Come on, Cyril, harder! Hit that fucker! Come on, baby, take his head off."

Cyril pounded the bag for all he was worth, but Ryan watched Khan on the other side of the gym sparring with one of his men and knew that Cyril's chances were slim. Khan had discipline and strength, and Cyril had speed and a coach who didn't know what he was doing half the time. Ryan shot a glance toward Murphy, who observed from the other side of the chain link fence. Raising a brow in silent question, Ryan watched the hack carefully for the slightest sign that Cyril was doing okay, but Murphy just gave him an inscrutable look and turned away.

"What the fuck was that about?" Ryan muttered to himself as the room suddenly went quiet and every man in there turned to look at him. He glanced around in confusion and barked, "What?"

Ryan's gaze went from face to face. Cyril wore the same expression of amiable blankness that he usually did, but the others... Beecher looked disappointed, but Keller's eyes nearly glowed with amusement. The Muslims stood together as a solid wall of disapproval, while the other black inmates were narrow-eyed with suspicion. The Russian lurked in the corner smiling in satisfaction, and Pancamo looked ready to tear out Ryan's heart with his bare hands.

"What? What the fuck are you staring at?" Ryan lifted his hand to do what, he wasn't sure, but as soon as he saw the water bottle--Khan's spritzer--in his grip he knew. He knew that they all knew what he'd done. He swallowed hard and grinned with his usual nonchalance and started to spin a fairytale that only a four year old would believe. The words stuck in his throat as Murphy came toward him. The hack shook his head as if he was disappointed and yet not really surprised by the turn of events.

"Come on, Murphy, I had to do it. I had to protect Cyril and show these fucks that the Irish still matter."

"Yeah, Ryan, we'll show 'em. Come over here." With one hand on his belt close to his baton and cuffs, Murphy motioned Ryan closer with the other. Dropping the plastic bottle on the floor, Ryan walked forward, expecting to be taken to Ad Seg or the warden's office. His spine stiffened and he shook his head when Murphy put a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "On your knees."

"What? No!" Ryan shook his head and tried to back away but Murphy's grip tightened, holding him in place. "What the fuck is this?"

"I'm very disappointed in you, Ryan. You've proven that you're no better than the rest of these cocksuckers." Murphy nodded with an almost condescending smile. "So you're gonna have to make it up to me. On your knees." With just the one hand on his shoulder, Murphy pushed Ryan into a kneeling position and asked, "Now I'm not gonna have to use the cuffs, am I? You want to do this the easy way, right?"

Ryan was astonished to find himself nodding and saying, "Yes, Sean." // Wait a minute. When the fuck did that hack become "Sean" to me? He's Murphy and I'm O'Reilly. I use him. He does *not* use me. // Ryan gathered himself together, shook off the momentary lapse and demanded, "What the fuck is going on here? You can't do this to me. You can't do it right in front of everybody. This is one hell of a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"You're right, Ryan. It would be better without an audience." Murphy waved his hand and the gym was suddenly empty except for him and Ryan. "Okay, I'm sure you know what to do now."

"No, I don't!"

"Ryan, don't play dumb. You are a cocksucker just like all the rest. Correct me if I'm wrong, but did we or did we not establish that already?"

As Murphy started to unfasten his uniform pants, Ryan's chest tightened and he wondered what Gloria would have to say about this. She was still so angry, she might figure he deserved what he got, but he didn't. Did he?

No, of course not.

"I'm not a fag, Se-- Murphy! I don't suck cock." Ryan poured sincerity and persuasion into every word. "I don't know what to do. I have *never* had another guy's dick anywhere near me."

"Oh, really? You been here three years and you don't know what to do?" Murphy asked him, disbelief coloring every word.

"Well, I know the Beecher method," replied Ryan with a half smile, referring to the infamous incident when James Robson in Gen Pop tried to make Toby Beecher suck his dick and Beecher bit the tip off.

"Try that with me and I'll break your fucking neck." Murphy grinned, but Ryan could see that the hack meant what he said. "But I tell you what... Since you don't know what to do and I'm such a nice guy, I'll show you. Just this once, so you better be a fast learner."

Before Ryan could formulate a response, Murphy dragged him to his feet and over to the fence. The guard whipped out his handcuffs and shackled Ryan's left wrist, then he took Ryan's right hand, putting it behind his back and against the fence. He threaded the open cuff around Ryan's wrist and one of the thick wires of the chain link. When he snapped it shut, Ryan's hands were bound together and secured to the fence.

Without another word, Murphy started unfastening Ryan's loose olive drab pants. The hack's hands were not gentle, but neither were they rough. They calmly pulled the pants down to Ryan's ankles and then withdrew. Ryan instinctively jerked backward. The metal of the fence cutting into his bare ass was a cold contrast to the hot breath drifting over his exposed cock...his reluctantly hardening cock.

Murphy hitched his pant leg up and knelt on one knee looking for all the world like a basketball coach about to give his team a new play. However, the only play he seemed interested in was his strong hands holding Ryan's hips still for his hungry mouth.

As the wet tongue drew designs over the head of his cock, Ryan closed his eyes and banged his head back against the chain links. The slight pain did nothing to discourage the arousal coursing through his body. He couldn't believe how good it felt--it had been so long. Shannon had been talented, but Murphy was setting Ryan on fire and making him forget how much he should hate this. His cock didn't care if the person who was sucking it was male or female, and the rest of him was starting to feel the same way.

Ryan was on the verge of coming when a loud buzzer went off somewhere in the distance. Murphy pulled off him with a regretful smile and said seriously, "You still owe me one, Ryan, but I'll get it later."

The words barely registered as Ryan jerked awake and looked around wildly. He was right here, locked safely in his pod with his brother stirring in the lower bunk. He rubbed a shaky hand over his face and tried to will away his erection before he got up. When it didn't seem to go down at all, he slipped his hand under the covers and brought himself off with just a few practiced strokes. He shuddered as he wiped his hand on the sheet and got ready to face the day.

 

Lined up outside his pod, Ryan's eyes kept shifting over to the guard station where Officer Murphy stood overseeing the morning count. The head hack didn't seem to be paying O'Reilly any special attention but Ryan couldn't stop watching for some sign that would explain the bizarre dream--nightmare-- he'd just had.

There was absolutely nothing special about the man that Ryan could see. He was just another Mick, and a hack to boot. He'd cut Ryan and Cyril some breaks, which had initially made Ryan very suspicious. His suspicions had lessened over time, mostly because he'd been occupied with other concerns and Murphy had never done anything that wasn't in Ryan's favor. Murphy had given him boxing advice, and had kept both him and Cyril out of the hole. Most importantly, he had let Ryan go after catching him in the act of spiking Khan's water bottle with chloral hydrate. Ryan would have been in trouble if anyone else had caught him. He would have gotten a month in the hole that would have left Cyril vulnerable to the jackals that constantly circled the herd looking for the weakest member. Like that fucking Schillinger.

Ryan headed off to the kitchen with Cyril in tow, and resolved to get himself back on track. There were strange currents in the air, not unlike those he felt before the riot. He needed to focus on getting back his small but lucrative tit trade now that his boxing income was cut off. It was too bad about Khan, but at least Cyril was all right.

Ryan glanced over his shoulder and gave his brother a little grin, but Cyril just blinked at him and kept walking. He'd get over Khan's brain damage, Ryan knew. There really was no other option. Maybe talking to Sister Pete would help Cyril. Ryan almost laughed because the nun had certainly never helped *him*. "Don't think about Gloria" was her advice. Yeah, really fucking helpful. Ryan thought about Gloria every day, and dreamed about her every night.

Or he used to. Now, he was apparently having homo dreams about Jason Cramer and Sean Murphy. What a fucking nightmare. He, Ryan O'Reilly, was not a fag. He had no interest in having Jason Cramer licking his face or Sean Murphy giving him a blowjob. He just didn't. Did he?

No, of course not.

His shift passed quietly in the usual haze of menial tasks. Ryan managed to avoid making eye contact with Cramer when he came through the line, and he let Vern Schillinger's comments about Cyril pass with only an eyefuck and a sneer. Cyril's recent comment about Ryan always fighting had made more of an impression on the older O'Reilly than he'd first thought. There were also the dual problems of going in the Hole-- Cyril would be unprotected and Ryan would have nothing to do but think...and dream, which was the last thing he needed right now.

After his shift was finished, he went back to his pod to change clothes before going to his session with Sister Peter Marie. Cyril had already changed and headed out to play checkers with Rebadow until Ryan returned for the lunch shift. Ryan stripped off his white uniform and slipped a pair of chinos over his boxers. He was reaching for a sleeveless T-shirt when a movement outside the door caught his attention. He glanced up to see Murphy walking by on one of the rounds he often made through Em City.

Murphy looked at Ryan and nodded slightly then continued on his way. Ryan stared after the hack, forgotten shirt clenched in his fingers. There seemed to be something else in the guard's dark eyes today, but Ryan shook it off, knowing he could be projecting his own confusion. He went over to the door and watched Murphy as he stopped beside a couple of Bikers and made some comment that had them moving off in opposite directions.

Nothing was out of the ordinary about the scenario, except Ryan's perceptions. He was seeing everything slightly skewed today. He acknowledged this to himself as he left his pod and noticed Beecher and Keller approaching each other in the middle of the common area with an animal wariness. Ryan took his time walking down the stairs so he could observe the two men more closely.

Keller was a Beech-seeking missile, focused on what was for him the only thing in the room. Beecher seemed a bit more aware of their surroundings, eyes darting from Chris to the hacks to Chris to Rebadow and Cyril to Chris to Ryan and back to Chris. The two men's absorption in each other, however reluctant it may have been on Beecher's part, was starting to fascinate Ryan in a way that surprised him. He'd previously ignored any relationship that was not of use to him. He filed it away just in case it became useful, but on the whole didn't give such things much thought.

Now he was thinking about it more than he wanted. What could Beecher and Keller see in each other? He knew Beecher had been married and therefore was straight...well, he had been before Vern had gotten hold of him. Keller had also been married, a bunch of times in his case. So obviously, if given a choice, he'd take a woman.... But they didn't have such a choice here. Whittlesey had always been out of the question, and Sister Pete was a nun. That new female hack was a terror and no guy would want her anyway--besides Tim McManus, if the lawsuit could be believed. Ryan snickered to himself over that development, then continued on to Sister Pete's office fully aware that he'd not even considered Gloria as an option for any guy in Oz. No one but he could have Gloria. Ryan would always make sure of that. He still loved Gloria, didn't he? She was deep under his skin. None of that had been changed because of a dream or two, had it?

No, of course not.

So Keller and Beecher were both mostly straight and yet they seemed obsessed with each other. Why? Loneliness? Desperation? Maybe. There was always plenty of both around Oz. Was it a shared hatred of Schillinger? That one didn't work quite as well, because Keller didn't appear to actually hate Vern any more than any other guy not in the Aryan Brotherhood did, and Beecher had as much reason to hate Keller as he did Vern. From what Ryan could see, that wasn't the case, although old Toby had socked Chris a lot harder than he had to in convincing Andy to trust him. Ryan had found the whole thing vaguely amusing, and never spared a second of sympathy on the boy. He knew Beecher felt guilty, but then he was Beecher. He was allowed. Ryan didn't really see the point himself.

He spent the next hour verbally dancing with Sister Pete. Although the Sister's was much quieter, they both heaved a sigh of relief when their time was up, and Ryan could go on about his business. The business of survival in Oz did not include pondering the love/lust/sex lives of other prisoners, not even if there might be something to learn in the process, a possibility of which Ryan wasn't convinced in the first place. So he went on with the rest of his day, doing his best to avoid any contact with Officer Murphy, and put it all out of his mind...

Until he went to sleep.

 

Miss Sally stepped out of the schoolyard, out of the TV, and into Ryan's arms. Her big round breasts pressed into his chest and her silky blonde hair tickled his nose as she proceeded to wrap her entire naked body around his. In the back of his mind, Ryan knew this had to be a dream but it felt more like heaven. When she put her lips on his, he almost hummed with happiness. He could even *smell* her, warm and sweet and spicy. Actually she smelled like Old Spice aftershave. Ryan shook his head, opened his eyes, and groaned loudly.

"Fuck!"

He was back in the gym, and Murphy was standing behind him. Ryan couldn't see the hack, but he could feel the heat of his body and smell his aftershave. He started to turn, but strong hands held his shoulders and kept him still. "What now, Murphy?"

"Just watch, Ryan," a husky voice whispered in his ear, sending a shiver down Ryan's spine. He bit back a suggestion of what the hack could do to himself, and stared straight ahead and waited.

Quick as the blink of an eye, Toby Beecher and Chris Keller appeared. The two men faced each other in the middle of the mats and ignored O'Reilly and Murphy as if unaware of their presence. Beecher seemed about to speak, but Keller shook his head and started to move, circling Toby, getting a little bit closer each time around. Toby's breathing became erratic as Chris began to brush against him, light fleeting touches all over his body-- the curve of his jaw, the back of his hand, his top of shoulder, the center of his chest, the side of his thigh. By the time Keller's fingers moved to Beecher's groin, Ryan was feeling warm all over. He told himself that it was the temperature of the room, and not the unexpected sensuality of what he was witnessing. And Sean--Murphy's firm body pressed against his back and the soft hiss of breath against Ryan's ear had nothing to do with it either. Did it?

No, of course not.

Ryan watched as Beecher reached out to Keller, pulling him close for a kiss. It was a very hot kiss, Ryan admitted uncomfortably, but it was also surprisingly tender. Ryan had never seen guys be gentle with each other. The encounters he'd witnessed had always seemed mostly about power trips and instant gratification. This was altogether different.

Murphy's hands moved slowly down Ryan's bare arms, and Ryan tried to find his voice to protest. He opened his mouth but nothing came out as the hands brushed over his own and then settled on his belly. Murphy's arms circled him and his front cradled Ryan's back. Ryan realized he was being held. The hack wasn't holding him down or holding him still. He was just holding him...in an embrace.

Ryan started to struggle, but Murphy held him tighter and told him again to watch.

Beecher leaned heavily on his cane as Keller lowered himself to his knees in front of him. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to see Chris sucking Toby's cock. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Ryan realized he didn't hear anything, no rustling of clothes, no heavy breathing, no... moaning or slurping sounds. He cautiously cracked an eye open and squinted at the two men before him. What he saw made both eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in confusion. Keller wasn't going down on Beecher at all. He was just kneeling in front of the other man, face turned up in a pose that Ryan had seen plenty of times as a child in church. Keller knelt in the position of the penitent--the adoring and penitent. Ryan's mom had once told him that there were two kinds of people who begged forgiveness in church, the ones who were sorry because they feared God and those who were sorry because they loved God. Keller definitely looked like the latter, only he was worshipping Beecher right now.

So...Keller'd been trying to get back in Beecher's good graces because he *loved* him? Yeah, right. Not a chance. Alvarez had told Ryan there was no such thing, but Ryan had been feeling it for Gloria at the time so he'd dismissed the other man's cynicism. Then later, after Gloria had broken his heart, he'd reconsidered that maybe Alvarez had been right all along. Oz was no place for love, nevertheless he did still love Gloria. That would never change, not even with the extra forty years on his sentence.

Ryan was distracted from his rambling thoughts by Murphy's hands on his belly, petting him, slowly moving down to his boxers, the only thing he wore. As strong rough fingers slid beneath the waistband, Ryan felt a hard bulge prodding at his ass. Breath freezing in his chest, he went numb all over, and suddenly he wasn't in his body anymore. He was standing in front of himself watching Sean Murphy running his hands all over Ryan's body, stripping the scant protection of his shorts away.

And that Ryan wasn't doing anything to stop Murphy. He just stood there with his eyes closed and his mouth open slightly, as if on a sigh that never quite made it out.

The conscious Ryan started yelling at himself to do something. "Stop that cocksucker...uh, Ryan. Fight back, damn it! You can take him."

But the other Ryan just tipped his head back against Murphy's shoulder to give the CO's roaming mouth easier access to his neck.

"What the fuck is wrong with you--me--? Whoever! Just stop that right this fucking minute," Ryan screamed into his own face, and shoved violently at Murphy's arms, but before anything could happen he fell back...away... into darkness.

 

Ryan awoke in a cold sweat. The pod was still shrouded in the charcoal grey twilight that passed for night in Em City. Shoving the blanket off to one side, he sat up and wondered if he had awakened Cyril this time. After a few seconds of listening to his brother's even breathing, he let out the breath he'd been holding. He climbed down from his bunk quietly, instead of just flinging himself over the side as he tended to do on those mornings when the day held some sort of promise.

His sock-clad feet settling almost silently on the floor, he padded over to the sink and filled it. He plunged his face into the cold water and held his breath until his lungs burned, then slowly lifted his head. Jerking his towel off its hook, he roughly dried off his face.

Ryan reassured himself that Cyril still slept before walking over to the front wall of the pod. He leaned his arms against the glass and looked out at the other pods. None of the other prisoners were up and about at this late hour, but Ryan could see a couple of CO's down at the control center. They didn't seem to be talking, just staring into the middle distance as if their minds were many miles from Oz.

Ryan could understand the desire to think about any place other than here. He could only allow himself to escape into his mind when he was safely locked into his pod. During the day, he had to be on top of his game, keeping his schemes and plans straight and running smoothly. He had to stay constantly on guard, not just for himself but for Cyril too. He was getting tired, and his emotions had gotten the better of him a few times since he'd had Cyril to take care of.

Now that Cyril was the boxing champion, maybe the others would leave him alone. If not, maybe he could call on the confidence he'd gained in the ring and kick their asses before they could fuck with him. At least, he'd be safe in the Hole. Ryan knew that one day some guy with a shank would get lucky or his cancer would come back or he'd get shot in a riot or *something* would happen to take him out of the game. He wouldn't be around to watch out for Cyril, and he couldn't stand the thoughts of what would happen to his brother then.

On top of all the usual worries, he had these new disturbing dreams to deal with, and he wasn't sure how to do so. No way was he talking to Sister Pete about them. She was still poking at him about scrubbing Shannon's name off his arm. It seemed to Ryan that she asked the same questions over and over in their sessions together, and he kept giving the same answers. They were stuck going in a pointless circle, but he wasn't going to break it by bringing up the dreams. He didn't want any mention of it in his psych file.

Misery tightened his guts into an aching knot, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He should climb back in his bunk and get some sleep. He'd have to be sharp tomorrow, but he just couldn't face another dream right now.

After several more minutes of staring blindly out into Em City, Ryan shook his head to settle his whirling thoughts and got back into bed, where he lay wide awake until the lights came on and the bell announced that it was time to get up.

 

Three days later, Ryan's nerves were frayed and it was starting to show. Even Cyril had noticed that something was wrong and mentioned it to Beecher behind Ryan's back. When Beecher had told him that Cyril was worried about him, Ryan's first thought was an uncharitable "Good! It's his fucking turn." But all Ryan said to Beecher was, "I'm fine. I'll take care of Cyril, just like I always do."

Walking down the corridor to Em City from one of Sister Pete's drug meetings, Ryan gave a brief nod and stopped when he saw Sean Murphy coming from the other direction. "Hey, Murphy."

"O'Reilly. How's it going?" The greeting was simple, a variation of many greetings that the two men had exchanged, but today it hit Ryan in a peculiar way. All the dreams of the past week came rushing up at him like a hot breath down the back of his neck.

"How's it going? It sucks, Murphy. It sucks big time and I have no idea what to do about it." Ryan drew back his fist and slammed it into the wall. He narrowly avoided breaking every bone in his hand because Murphy grabbed his arm and lessened the blow.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the hack exclaimed.

"I don't know!" Ryan shook off the sting in his knuckles and the hand on his arm at the same time. "I just... I don't know."

Murphy gave him a concerned look and said, "O'Reilly, I've never seen you unsure of yourself. Not even when you asked for boxing advice. What's going on here?"

"Yeah well, it's been a rough week. I'm a little tense that's all. I haven't been sleeping well-- Hey, maybe I should go to the infirmary and see Doctor Nathan. Let her check me out?" Ryan smiled hopefully but he could see Murphy wasn't going to go for that.

"Remember that I read your file? No unnecessary trips to the infirmary for you, pal. And if you hurt yourself so you *have* to go, I'll make sure that Doctor Nathan knows exactly why you're there so she can have a nurse or another doctor take care of you."

"That's cold, Murphy. I thought we were friends."

"Something like that, I guess."

"Can I ask you something?" Ryan paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "Who do you go home to when you leave here? You got a girlfriend...boyfriend?"

"Not at the moment."

"Which one?"

"Neither. What are you getting at, O'Reilly?"

"You're free to do whatever you want, right? No bars, no glass pods, no lockdowns. So how come you go home to an empty house every night?"

"Why are you suddenly interested in my love life?" Murphy watched him with a suspicious gleam in his dark eyes.

Ryan realized he didn't know how to address his concerns without making himself sound pathetic. So he grinned and said, "Hey, it's not like *I've* got one to be interested in. I gotta live vicariously through somebody and the rest of the fucks in here have got just what I got--nothing."

"Mmm hmm. There's more to it, O'Reilly." Murphy looked up and down the deserted corridor, seeming to come to a decision. "Come with me." He took Ryan's arm and led him toward a short hallway that branched off from the main one.

Ryan was too surprised at first to think of putting up a fight and by the time the thought occurred to him, Murphy was unlocking a door and pulling him though it. Flipping on a light, Murphy closed the door behind them as Ryan looked around the large supply closet. "What are we doing in here?"

"I thought you might tell me what's really bothering you if we had some privacy," answered Murphy, leaning a shoulder against the door in a casual stance.

"Nothing's bothering me. I'm fine." Replying absently, Ryan inspected the boxes on the shelves but found nothing useful or particularly interesting.

"You are not fine. You look like hell and you're asking me personal questions. Something is definitely up with you. Would you rather talk to Sister Peter Marie or Father Mukada?"

Ryan whirled around, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. "About the dreams? Fuck no!" He closed his eyes and shook his head, breathing sharply through his nose. "Look, just let me out of here and we'll just go on about our business. Because mine is none of yours. Get it?"

"Yeah, I got it. You're having nightmares or something and it's interfering with your sleep. I understand how that could make you a little frazzled, but what I don't understand is what any of that has to do with me."

Ryan opened his eyes and something in the CO's expression urged him to tell the truth. He shook off the peculiar sensation, unsure how to be completely honest when he wasn't sure just what was what anymore. He shrugged his shoulders and figured he could trust Murphy at least a little by now. "Yeah." He cleared his throat and started over. "Yeah, you're right. I've been having nightmares. I guess everybody in here does at sometime, right? It's not exactly the happiest fucking place on earth."

"True enough. Want to talk about them?"

"No, not really." Ryan smiled wryly and said slowly, "You...uh...you're sort of...in them."

Murphy seemed taken aback by that revelation and just stood there for a couple of minutes. When the silence had reached the breaking point, he asked quietly, "I'm in your nightmares? What am I doing in them?"

"Well, that's uh...what makes them nightmares. The first one started with a confrontation over the chloral hydrate." He conveniently forgot about the Jason Cramer-as-a-vampire one because he chose to blame that one on watching too many horror movies as a kid. In Ryan's mind, the nonsensical explanation was a better excuse than one of Sister Pete's Freudian kind of things. Better to just focus on the simplest part of the dreams to begin with. "Maybe my subconscious is worried about what you're gonna do with that information."

"I told you I'd keep it a secret." Murphy moved closer and Ryan instinctively stepped back against the tall metal shelves. "What happened in the dreams?"

"Um...you caught me again with the bottle, but this time everyone was there, watching. They all knew and they were very, very pissed."

"Go on," prompted Murphy and Ryan would have sworn he was closer even though he hadn't seen the hack move.

"I... You--you handcuffed me to the fence. You were going to make me give you...a--a blowjob, but I told you I couldn't..." Ryan gulped and stared at his feet as he finished in a rush, "So you said you'd show me how and you did and then I woke up."

"Was I any good?"

Ryan's head snapped up. He gaped at the hack for a moment before stammering, "Yeah...no! I don't...I don't really remember. I woke up pretty quickly."

"Hmmm. What do you think that means, Ryan? I'm no psychiatrist, but I always heard that dreams are your brain's way of trying to tell you something. Maybe it's something you need to think about, hm?"

"I've been thinking of nothing else for most of the past week. I'm sick of thinking about it. I'm not a fag."

"Ryan, just because you have some dreams or some feelings, doesn't mean that you're gay. Maybe it's the loneliness, the isolation... maybe you were bisexual all along and suppressed it. Why don't you talk to Sister Pete about this?"

"No fucking way, man. Bisexual...that's liking chicks but settling for a guy if that's all you got available, right?"

Murphy laughed and said, "Something like that."

"So...uh, are you that way?"

"Why?" Suspicion colored his voice again, but he was smiling and that gave Ryan courage.

"Well, you know. We're in here alone and you said you don't have a--what do ya call it?--significant other? So I guess I was wondering if you...ever thought about me that way?"

"I've gotten too involved with you as it is, O'Reilly. Even if I was interested in something like that--and I'm not confirming or denying anything--it would be career suicide to even *think* about having any kind of relationship with a prisoner."

"Hey, I ain't asking you to marry me. Worried about what happened with Wangler and McManus?" Ryan smirked.

"No, because there was nothing to that. Adebisi and Wangler are making it up."

"Maybe so, maybe not. Personally, I don't give a shit about either one of them. I just...want to...know..." Ryan ducked his head and gave Murphy what he hoped was a flirtatious smile. "Look... *Sean*, sex is easy enough to get in here--whether you want it or not. Mostly the object is to avoid it. You understand what I'm saying? What I miss the most is affection. Kissing and feeling wanted and all that. Can't get that from a grope in the shower."

Ryan stepped closer to the hack and ignored the frantic beating of his heart. He took a deep calming breath and Murphy's scent--coffee and mint and leather and Old Spice--surrounded him, making him feel warm and oddly safe. For the first time all day, maybe for the first time since he got out of the hospital after his last chemo treatment, he didn't have to worry about getting shanked if he let his guard down. He felt some of his customary tension flow out of him, muscles relaxing for the first time in years.

"Sean, I trust you more than anyone else in this hellhole, next to Cyril. If I was going to...uh, reconsider my options, you'd be my first--only--choice." Ryan reached a hand out very slowly and watched in fascination as Murphy tensed but didn't react any other way. When Ryan slid his fingers down the hack's bare forearm, he made sure the bleeding shamrock tattoo was turned up and visible. "Nobody's really touched me in years. Do you know what that's like?"

"Yeah, I think I do." Murphy turned his hand over and caught Ryan's wandering fingers. He pulled the inmate even closer, until their chests were pressed together and they were breathing each other's air, and asked in a quiet serious voice, "Ryan, are you sure you know what you're asking for? You're playing a very dangerous game, my brother."

Ryan snorted a laugh and said, "My whole fucking life is dangerous. I'm not afraid of you."

"I won't hurt you--unless you give me reason. But there're other kinds of danger." Murphy's voice had dropped even lower, if that was possible, and it sent a shiver down Ryan's spine that was not at all unpleasant.

"I can handle it." Ryan licked his lips and spoke the same simple words he'd said to Gloria so long ago. "Kiss me."

And Sean did it without protest. Ryan held his breath at the first touch of another man's lips on his, expecting some earth shattering difference, but in reality kissing Sean wasn't all that different. His lips were thin and firm, instead of full and soft, but his breath was sweet and chin wasn't too scratchy. Ryan let his breath out on a little sigh, and Sean took immediate advantage, slipping inside for a quick taste. Ryan met Sean's tongue with his own, and shut his brain down completely. He enjoyed the moment for what it was--mutual pleasure with a man that he actually respected. It felt good.

Murphy was still gripping his right hand so Ryan slid his left around the other man's back, feeling warmth and strength through the layers of uniform and undershirt. He held Sean tightly to his chest wishing he could crawl inside him for an hour or two, but he knew that was impossible when Murphy drew back a little, took a deep breath, and said, "Ryan, we've been missing too long. I have to go finish my paperwork and clock out and you've got to get back to Em City."

Ryan opened his eyes slowly and stared at the man who was turning back into a hack right in front of him. Murphy pulled away and tucked his shirt back into the back of his pants. Ryan couldn't remember pulling it out. Murphy smoothed down his hair and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. "Ryan, are you okay? You understand we don't have anymore time for this right now?"

Ryan nodded and tried to put the pieces of himself back together before he walked out the door. He straightened his back and tightened his shoulders and ignored the ache. "Guess we got another little secret between us, huh Murph?"

"Yeah, O'Reilly. One that's in both our best interests to keep." Murphy opened the storage room door, and looked back at Ryan and said, "Don't take anything."

Ryan smirked and waited until the CO said the coast was clear, then headed out to return to Em City. Out in the main corridor, he stopped and said, "Hey Murphy, do it again some time?"

"Yeah, O'Reilly. I'll let you know when."

Ryan watched the other man walk away and then turned toward Em City. He couldn't hold back a laugh as he realized there was no way Murphy would rat him out about the chloral hydrate now because Ryan had something just as damaging on him.

Things were definitely looking up for Ryan O'Reilly. He wasn't afraid to go to sleep anymore. He was... reconsidering.

The End.


End file.
